


for the sake of a win, this is fine

by lynnpaper (27beansprouts)



Series: togruta, negotiator and human disaster [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka Tano Gets a Hug, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, BAMF Ahsoka Tano, Gen, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29060001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27beansprouts/pseuds/lynnpaper
Summary: Such is the will of the Force, she thinks, as the grey durasteel walls swirl around her and her legs turn to jelly.or: ahsoka needs to learn that just because anakin is a self-destructive idiot does not mean she has to inherit that exact trait too
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano
Series: togruta, negotiator and human disaster [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129013
Comments: 27
Kudos: 187





	for the sake of a win, this is fine

**Author's Note:**

> my new hobby: beating up my favourite characters and calling it writing

It’s always at the wrong time and place, Ahsoka thinks, that these things tend to happen to her. Fortunately, she’s only a few feet away from a very capable medic and a very caring master. Unfortunately, it has taken three days, two bacta patches and one very unlucky blaster shot for her to get to where she is right now, and she was really looking forward to returning to her quarters for another trashy holodrama and a mug of sapir tea.

 _Such is the will of the Force_ , she thinks, as the grey durasteel walls swirl around her and her legs turn to jelly.

She’d felt it the moment it hit her. A burning, smarting pain as the heat of the blaster bolt ripped into the skin on her shoulder. But she kept fighting, blocking out the pain with the Force until they were back on the _Resolute_ , then sticking on a bacta patch before anyone could see the extent of her injury.

“You alright?” Anakin asks after the battle, gesturing to her shoulder. She nods. “Just a scrape. I’ll be fine.”

Oh, but it _burns_. Ahsoka forces herself to tune out the pain the same way she tunes out the chatter of clones around her, arranging her face into a mask of careful neutrality, only gritting her teeth when she turns away.

A day later, she peels off the bacta patch to replace it, noting that her shoulder looks a little swollen. _It’s fine_ , she thinks, quickly changing the patch so she doesn’t have to look at the wound.

The third day is somehow even worse, and she’s really struggling to keep a calm demeanour when her shoulder feels like it’s on fire. _It’s fine_ , she thinks. She’ll get it checked out when they land.

So after enduring three days of agony, it’s a little bit annoying that she doesn’t even make it down the landing ramp before her body turns on her. At least Obi-Wan — who is most likely waiting in the hangar bay — doesn’t see her practically collapse into her master’s arms.

Anakin catches her easily, her small frame weighing almost nothing to him, and drops to his knees to hold her upright.

“Ahsoka?” Anakin says frantically. “Ahsoka!”

Ahsoka mumbles something incoherent. Anakin peels back the bacta patch covering her shoulder and curses loudly. This is not _just a scrape_. He knows a blaster wound when he sees one. He also knows an infection when he sees one, and if experience is anything to count on, he can say with certainty that a measly bacta patch is not going to do anything for the angry, inflamed skin around the burn.

“It’s kinda cold,” she mumbles.

“I’m taking you to the medbay,” he says, jaw clenched. Ahsoka hears him yell for a medic, but she feels like she’s underwater. Everything is hazy, too bright, and her limbs are as heavy as lead.

Whatever Obi-Wan is expecting to see when the landing ramp descends, it’s not this. Anakin carries his padawan against his chest. His face is a perfect picture of anxiety. Ahsoka’s arm hangs limply by her side and her eyes are closed, but her eyelids twitch once or twice, forehead scrunching up in pain.

Anakin doesn’t say a word to Obi-Wan, just meets his eyes and shakes his head before hurrying off to the medbay.

* * *

“Let me get this straight,” he says, rubbing his temples in a look which she’s seen too many times, and has come to learn it means _why did I ever take you as my padawan?_ “You got shot in the middle of battle — _right through your shoulder_ — and decided to _slap on a bacta patch and pretend everything was fine?!_ ”

“Two,” Ahsoka says, her throat dry as a bone. “Two bacta patches.”

“ _Right_. As if that’s gonna make a difference. And in the three days we were on the ship, you didn’t think to — I don’t know, _seek medical attention maybe?_ ” His voice is well on its way to hysterical, and she winces at the sudden increase in volume.

“Kix was busy,” she mumbles. “And the clones are injured too.”

Anakin rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms, a spitting image of Obi-Wan when Anakin does something stupid. It would be almost funny if he didn’t look like he was about to throw up from stress.

“Do you have any idea how _infected_ that blaster wound is?”

“…no?”

Her master buries his face in his hands, taking a deep breath, then letting it out slowly, like he’s restraining himself from yelling at her in the middle of the medbay. Ahsoka sighs inwardly, mentally preparing herself for the tongue lashing she’s going to get after this. Not because Anakin is mad at her — well, _yes_ , because Anakin is mad at her — but because he’s been so worried and upset he hasn’t eaten or slept since she collapsed. And he deserves better than that.

Anakin glances up at Ahsoka over the tips of his fingers. He looks so distraught, anyone else might think he’s about to cry. Ahsoka resists the urge to reach out and take his hand, smiling like she always does, before telling him she’s _okay_ , she’ll be _fine_.

“You need to take care of yourself,” he says softly, defeated. Ahsoka swallows, bitter guilt itching up her throat and spreading over her tongue.

“I’m sorry,” she replies. “I didn’t want anyone to worry.”

“No, Ahsoka,” he says, a fresh hint of anger lacing his words. “I _know_ you know better. You’ve seen what happens to blaster wounds when they’re not treated. You’ve seen it on the clones, you’ve seen it on me — hell, now you’ve seen it on yourself. Be _smart_ , Ahsoka. It’s not worth it.”

Kix discharges her a day later on a positive note, saying she’ll be fine and she’ll make a full recovery, and gives her stern orders not to exert her shoulder at all for the next week or two, but she doesn’t miss the flash of disappointment in his eyes. She smiles nonetheless, giving her thanks, and returns to the dorms with enough bacta dressings to last for a few days.

Anakin is waiting for her when she gets back. He smiles tiredly, glad she’s not stuck in the medbay anymore, and offers to make her a mug of caf. She gladly accepts.

* * *

“You shouldn’t worry about me so much,” she says. Ahsoka is curled up on the couch in Anakin’s quarters. Anakin lounges on the other side, armour discarded, a mug of very strong, very bitter caf balancing precariously on the armrest next to him. It’s been three days since her whole blaster wound ordeal, and the pain in her shoulder has faded to a dull ache.

“You know I can’t do that,” he replies with a frown, but his voice is gentle.

Ahsoka exhales quietly. She doesn’t know why she even bothered to say that. _Of course_ Anakin would worry about her. He’s her master, for Force’s sake! But she can’t shake the guilt which squeezes her chest like a vice. Not when she remembers the wave of anguish which rushed down the bond when she collapsed, and the crease of his forehead which simply refuses to smooth itself out, and the way he holds himself tense and rigid even when he’s not standing at attention for duty.

 _I’m sorry_ , she thinks.

“I know,” he whispers. He holds out his arms. That’s Ahsoka’s cue to shuffle over and surrender to his embrace. Anakin rests his chin on the dip between her montrals, and she turns her head so her cheek is pressed against his heart. He wraps his arms around her lithe body, untangling her padawan beads from where they have become entwined on her back lek.

“In a war,” he starts quietly, then hesitates, as if he’s carefully drafting out every word he’s about to say. “In a war, people get hurt. People die. And it’s not something we have any control over.” His voice is laced with bitterness. “Force, we walk right into death sometimes. And —“

Ahsoka pulls away and shakes her head, her eyes wide and glassy. She doesn’t need to hear this. She knows what comes next.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers. There it is. The boulder that’s been weighing on both their shoulders. Unspoken but always there, hanging in the back of their minds, squashed into a corner.

 _I can’t lose you either_ , she sends down the bond. _But sometimes it feels like you’re determined to die._

The corner of Anakin’s lips tug up ever so slightly. “Where do you think you get it from?”

“Dying from a blaster wound is the lamest death I can think of,” she mutters, and Anakin chokes out a laugh.

“Yeah,” he replies softly, tightening his arms around her.

And that’s the end of their discussion, all the sorrow done and over with.

* * *

When Obi-Wan returns with food from Dex’s, Anakin and Ahsoka are tinkering with the innards of some poor droid which has been dismantled and spread out across the floor, laughing over battle stories made comical and blown out of proportion. Both master and padawan glance up at him and grin as he places the food on the table by the couch.

He notes, with relief, that Ahsoka no longer looks pale and delirious, and Anakin no longer looks like he’s on the verge of a breakdown.

Anakin yelps as Ahsoka steals one of his chips — “ _I thought you were a carnivore!_ ” — and pops it into her own mouth with an impish grin.

They are so much like children. It’s easy to forget they’re fighting a war.

Ahsoka pounces on Anakin as he tries to Force-lift a piece of steak off her plate. Obi-Wan sighs. The younglings in the temple behave better than them.

Missions, battles, they all fade away, and for a moment all the pain and heartache of the war is forgotten. _It's_ _fine_. 

They are fine. 

**Author's Note:**

> me: passionately explaining why you should not send children to war 
> 
> also me: give child.... blaster wound...... yes. very spicy 
> 
> do yell at me in the comments!! i love reading feedback because i'm lonely irl sure but also because the people on AO3 are the kindest souls in the universe :)
> 
> (or find me on tumblr as [lynnpaper](https://lynnpaper.tumblr.com/)!)


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